Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

But right before I fling my arms around his neck, his hands come out to stop me, grasping my upper arms to hold me still. I notice he’s wearing gloves too, though his are pristine, while mine are filthy and worn.

“Precious,” he says again, but this time, I can hear the shade of reprimand tinging it.

I shake my head at myself as I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“Are you alright?” he asks softly.

It’s like his simple question throws open the gate that I had shut on everything that happened. The fear and grief of those terrible moments come flooding out. Digby’s and Sail’s faces immediately flash through my head, making a golden tear drip down my cheek.

His eyes widen slightly. “What’s wrong?” he demands, shaking me a little. “Did anyone touch you? Tell me every single name of who dared to lay a finger on you, and I’ll burn them all to their bones and crush their ashes beneath my boots.”

Startled at the vehemency of his words, I just stare open-mouthed at him for a moment.

“Who, Precious?” he asks, shaking me again.

I immediately think of Captain Fane, but I’m not ready for that discussion. Not ready to tell him what I did. I still don’t even know what I’m going to do about Rissa.

“No, it’s not that. It’s my guards.” I say with a shake of my head. “Digby and—” I sniffle, trying to shore myself up, trying to get the words out. “After the attack, what the pirates did to Sail...it was horrible. I can’t stop replaying it in my head, of him being murdered right in front of me.”

My heart feels like someone is squeezing it in a punishing fist, fingers digging in, making it hurt, making it bleed. “I didn’t do anything to stop it. I just let him die there in the snow.”

My guilt is a writhing, pitiful beast, dragging its claws beneath my skin and ripping me to shreds.

“They dragged him onboard and they—” The vision of the pirates tying Sail up to that pole makes my throat close up. I’m crying so hard now that I’m not even sure he can understand what I’m saying.

“Shh,” Midas croons, his hands running up and down my arms in comforting strokes. “It’s alright. You don’t have to think about any of that anymore. You’re here now. No one will ever take you from me again.”

I nod, trying to get a hold of myself, trying to stop the flood of golden tears pouring from my eyes. “I missed you.”

He squeezes me slightly, warm eyes looking at me like I’m his greatest treasure. “You know I would stop at nothing to get you back.”

A small smile tilts up my lips. “I know.”

We simply watch each other for a moment, and I feel his presence tethering me to the comfort he represents. It’s that old, familiar warmth, that sense of security. It makes the beast inside of me settle, her claws drawing back, maw closing.

All of the uncertainty and anxiousness that I’ve felt all of these weeks, it all slowly retreats until I’m standing on familiar footing again. It’s a relief that I no longer have to be so alert, to be so careful. A quiet sigh slips out of me, and my shoulders lower slightly, losing the months of tension I’ve been carrying.

Midas’s brown eyes go soft, cushioning soil to pillow the vulnerable seed. “You’re here with me,” he murmurs. “Everything is okay now.”

I desperately want to reach up and brush a hand against his chest, to feel the beat of his heart, but I manage to hold back.

After a moment, Midas’s gaze takes on a more assessing edge, sweeping over me from head to toe. “You look a mess. Did they not even allow you a bath? A brush?”

I cringe, suddenly feeling self-conscious, embarrassed. Here he is, looking just as handsome as always, while I probably look like something not even the dogs would drag in.

I try to give him a smirk, but it feels forced, my cheeks trembling slightly. “It’s not like there were many bathhouses in the Barrens,” I joke lamely. Midas just frowns.

Pulling away, I look down at my wrinkled dress, hem stained and fabric loose. The top of my torn bodice is still gaping from where Captain Fane tore it, and my coat is ripped too. My boots are scuffed, my socks worn with holes, and I don’t even want to think about the state of my body and hair.

“I know, I look awful.” I pull at the end of my braid, thankful that I kept my hood on. Weeks and weeks of rag baths have not done me any favors.

“We’ll get you right as rain in no time, Precious,” he says with a warm smile. “Now that you’re back, we have so much to discuss. So much to do.”

I’m content to simply hear him talk. I’ve missed the sound of his voice, missed the way he lights up when he has plans and dreams to share with me.

“I won’t ever make the mistake of separating from you again,” he vows solemnly. “I’ll make it up to you. I swear it.”

“You couldn’t know this would happen.”